Seven Minutes in Hell
by Oxyidiot
Summary: The teens of South Park play a little game of "Seven Minutes in Heaven". Kyman one-shot!


A/N: Hello all! It's been a hot minute since I've posted anything on here. Like many others I'm sure, seems like I've caught the slash bug again after watching Tweek x Craig the other week. No Creek here; instead it's Kyman, my favorite! Enjoy!

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Seven Minutes in Hell

High school parties are so fucking lame.

I don't know why I come to these things. It's just a bunch of post pubescent dickheads trying out alcohol for the first or second time, then sweating and grinding on each other like a bunch of greased up strippers to some EDM crap that sounds like someone's taking a huge dump at every beat. I guarantee the fifteen minutes I spend in the bathroom each morning sounds a thousand times better than this garbage.

Don't get me wrong—I don't mind the drinking part. But it doesn't really affect me as strongly as some other people. Kyle says it's because I'm fat, but he can go fuck himself. I'm not fat; I'm just burly (I've even got a sweet beard coming in so I can pull off that lumberjack look chicks seem to be digging right now). And I'm also not a pussy who can't handle their alcohol.

Kyle's a pussy who can't handle his alcohol. He'll have half a drink and already his face is as red as his stupid daywalker hair. He doesn't go out there and gyrate like the rest of those idiots; thankfully he's realized by now that Jews have no rhythm. At least he's learned something.

I pour myself another whiskey and coke and set off to explore Token's house. I gotta give it to him; this _is_ a pretty sweet place to throw a party. It's big enough anyway. I'm glad Kenny doesn't throw parties at his house—I'd probably have to wear a hazmat suit just to protect from the inevitable herpes infestation lurking behind his front door.

I peer inside one of the side rooms and notice a group of people gathered together in a circle. What the hell is this, duck duck goose?

"What are you fags doing?" I ask, stepping into the room.

"Fuck you, Cartman." Kyle glares daggers at me, his cheeks already a light shade of pink. He doesn't look shitfaced, though—must've only had a drink or two.

Beside him, Bebe giggles, taking a sip from her red cup. She's clearly had more than a drink or two. "We're playing seven minutes in heaven," she explains, giggling once again for good measure.

"Is that the game where you pick some random person and go at it in a closet?"

"It sure is!" she replies.

My eyes fall on the empty beer bottle sitting in the center of the circle. "How do you know when the seven minutes are up?"

"Oh, Butters is playing timekeeper."

I look over at Butters, who's sitting closer to the closet entrance, his eyes focused on the stopwatch on his wrist. Suddenly, it beeps.

"TIME!"

Jesus Christ, he's such a chode.

Butters hops up, twisting the knob and opening the closet door in one swift motion. Everyone cranes their heads to watch as Stan and Wendy stumble out grinning, their faces flush and their hair tousled.

"Fucking typical," I grumble under my breath.

The two lovefags rejoin the circle, fixing each other's hair after they sit down. I roll my eyes. "So are you in?" Bebe looks up at me. Jesus Christ, she must be obliterated. She's not normally this friendly to me.

Well, nobody's really friendly to me. But that's just 'cause I'm a dick. People don't know how to appreciate that.

"Sure, why not?" I answer, making a break in the circle to slide into.

"What the fuck, Bebe?" I hear Kyle mutter across from me. "Who's gonna wanna make out with him?" Fucking dick. I ignore the slight stinging sensation in my chest. Probably just heartburn or psoriasis or something.

"Let's find out. Cartman, you spin next!"

My hand shakes for some reason as I grab the beer bottle. Whatever, I'm not nervous. With a flick of the wrist, the bottle is set in motion.

 _I'll show that asshole Kyle. I'm about to rock somebody's world…_

Round and round the bottle goes. I hold my breath as it starts to slow down, until it reaches its ultimate stop. Light chuckles and remarks of " _oh shit!_ " immediately pepper the room.

Emerald eyes glare at me icily. Kyle folds his arms across his chest, turning his head away from the circle. "No fucking way," he says. "Absolutely not."

"Like I wanted it to land on you anyway!" I spit out bitterly. "I'm allergic to Jew germs!"

"Fatass is gonna have to spin it again."

"But that's against the rules, Kyle!" Butters interjects. Looks like the little douchenozzle has taken on the role of rule keeper as well.

"Butters is right, dude," Stan agrees.

Kyle narrows his eyes at him in annoyance. "Easy for you to say, Stan! You got matched up with your fucking girlfriend!"

"It's the nature of the beast," Bebe says. "That's what makes this game so much fun! You never know who it's gonna land on!"

Kyle looks like he wants to murder everyone in the room. Honestly, I wouldn't mind murdering everyone myself. I'd be cool with just murdering Kyle though—that's always been a fantasy of mine.

"Fine. Let's get this shit over with," he says, downing the rest of whatever drink he's holding.

Before I can gather my bearings, I'm shoved into the closet with Kyle. The door clicks as it shuts, and I hear the faint beeping of a watch, followed by Butters' muffled voice shouting, "Okay…and go!"

"I'm not making out with you," Kyle starts, a slit of light from the bottom of the door barely illuminating his face. But I can still see the look of disgust.

"That's fine by me! Like I'd want to make out with you!" I scoff. After a pause I add, "I like chicks, anyway."

Kyle chuckles to himself. "Yeah, okay…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're so far in the closet you could find fucking Christmas presents."

"Like you'd know anything about Christmas presents, Jew!"

"Yeah, whatever. You know I'm right, though."

"You're not."

The stupid Jewrat was _not_ right; let me make that clear. I am not a homosexual. Sure, when I was an adolescent, I did have a long-running situation with Cupid Me, but that doesn't count. For fuck's sake, he was an alternate version of me. That's more like advanced masturbation.

If anything, one could describe me as a trailblazer with my innovative ways of jacking off.

"Come on, dude," Kyle continues to prod. "There's nothing wrong with it; just admit it. I never see you dating or talking about any girls. Have you even made out with a girl, like ever?"

"Of course I have!" I reply defensively, crossing my arms against my chest.

"Besides Wendy in the fourth grade?"

"Whatever. I just have high standards!" I huff. He's really starting to piss me off.

"Would those standards include a dick and balls?"

"Fuck you, Kahl! It's not like you're Mr. Casanova over there!"

"At least I've dated girls before!"

"Yeah, and the last one was what, a year ago? And how long did it last?"

He narrows his eyes at me. He knows I've got him there.

"Two weeks."

"That's what I thought," I reply with a smirk.

"It still doesn't change the fact that you're as gay as Richard Simmons."

I feel my anger start to rise again. "For fuck's sake, I'm not! I don't want to be with guys!"

"Really, dude? And what about that patch of pubes on your face you call a beard? You're totally going for the bear look. Admit it."

"Fuck you, I'm going for the lumberjack look. Chicks dig lumberjacks!"

"And guys dig bears."

"I hate you so much, Kahl. I'm seriously. And just because I haven't been with a lot of women—"

"Any women," he corrects me.

My eyes narrow to tiny slits and I resist the urge to strangle him right here, right now. " _Any_ women," I continue, "that doesn't mean I want a dick up my ass."

"Oh, so you'd be the catcher? I wouldn't have guessed that."

"That's not what I meant! Stop twisting my words, Kahl! For the last time, I'm not gay!"

"You sure about that?"

"Goddammit, yes!"

"So you're never fantasized about being with a guy?"

"No. Never!"

I had fantasized about being with a guy. As a matter of fact, it was the guy sitting right in front of me. It doesn't count, though.

It's only happened once or twice—six times, tops. It started two or three years ago after my falling out with Cupid Me. One night, I had a particularly vivid dream involving after school detention, a lone teacher's desk, and Kyle straddling me. I woke up in a cold sweat, boner raging. But really, that boner could've come from anywhere. I _was_ a teenage guy, after all. It was very likely that it was completely unrelated, just a hormonal thing. I took care of the problem and quickly went back to sleep, forgetting all about it.

After it happened a few more times, I came to the conclusion that Kyle is simply using his Jew powers to invoke some sort of mind control. 'Cause really, like I said, I'm not a homosexual. He's clearly doing something to alter my brainwaves. I'd never be checking out his ass in the locker room after gym class otherwise.

Honestly, this _is_ kind of getting out of hand. He doesn't own my thoughts; he needs to keep the fuck away from them. If only there was a way to release him from his power…

Maybe I have a golden opportunity here. Maybe making out with him in Token's walk-in closet is the key, like pressing an "abort" button. Kiss him once; the reality of how disgusting it all is will hit me like a ton of bricks, and I'll be free from his stupid spell. And then I can get all kinds of hot chicks who totally dig the lumberjack look.

That just might work…

"Kahl, you really need to stop trying to make out with me. I'm seriously. I'm not interested."

He snapped his head to look at me incredulously, his eyes bugged out. "What?!"

"Look, you're clearly scoping me out to see if I'd be into it. I keep telling you I'm not, but you're just hearing what you want to hear."

"Hah! Bullshit. You're insane."

"Besides…" I draw out a long pause for him to take the bait.

"Besides what?" _Hook, line, and sinker…_

"I heard through the grapevine that you're a lousy kisser. Like, _really_ lousy."

"No, I'm not! Where'd you hear that?"

"Just, you know, the grapevine. Makes sense, though. Why else would Red dump you after just two weeks?"

"That's not why we broke up!" Even in the relative darkness of the closet, I can see Kyle's face start to redden in a combination of anger and embarrassment. This is almost too easy…

"Yeah right, Kahl! Hate to break it to you, but looks like those gefilte fish lips of yours are a huge turn-off!"

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman! You don't know what you're talking about!" Kyle seethes through clenched teeth, his hands balled into tight fists. I think I see a vein bulge around his temple. Goddammit, I love pissing him off.

"Just admit that you couldn't kiss your way out of a paper fucking bag!"

"No way! I'm a great kisser, thank you very much!"

"Oh yeah? Prove it!"

"Fine!"

The next thing I know, he's grabbing the back of my head aggressively and crashing his lips to mine. My heart slams against my ribcage as I grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer to me. I stifle a moan when he shoves his tongue in my mouth. My tongue moves frantically against his, and I can taste the vodka seven he drank just a few minutes before.

I use my other hand and reach to the back of his head, yanking his Jew fro. He moans into my mouth, and I feel my pants tightening. What the fuck? This wasn't supposed to turn me on. He's really working his Jew magic right now…

Without warning, he takes my lower lip between his teeth, biting and sucking on it. I let out a long groan.

Damn, he _is_ a great kisser…

I take the hand I was clutching his shirt with and wrap it around his back, sliding my hand down ever so slowly. My dick twitches as I cup his ass, giving it a firm squeeze. I push us closer together, and I can feel that I'm not the only one who's turned on by this. I move my hand to the front of him, ghosting it over the bulge in his pants. My heart rate goes into overdrive as I finally grab Kyle's erection, stroking it over his jeans.

"Fuck, Cartman…" he mutters into my lips.

A faint beeping sound interrupts the moment. I hear a muffled, "TIME!"

FUCK!

I instantly shove Kyle off of me, knocking him into a stack of boxes behind us. He gets up and immediately shoves me back, and the door opens just as I punch him in the stomach. Light fills the room again, almost blinding me for a second. Butters shakes his head at us.

"Gee whiz, fellas. This closet's for lovin', not fightin'."

With Kyle still doubled over in pain, I answer for the both of us. "Well, what the fuck did everybody expect putting the two of us in here?"

I hear a few mutters of agreement from the circle outside. Just before I step out of the closet, I take one last look at Kyle, who's now starting to stand up straight after the sock to the gut I gave him. I wink at him, and he gives a nod of acknowledgment. He knows I just punched him so no one would find out what we were really doing in there.

…Which didn't mean anything, by the way. 'Cause as I stated earlier, I'm not gay. And I'm definitely not gay for Kyle.

No way in hell.


End file.
